Jealous

I just talked to a friend of mine in Atlanta and she says they are buried in an inch of ice. Not snow, but ice, the invisible, treacherous bastard. If I had known all the meteorological predictions for that area would actually come to pass, I would have gone to her house for the weekend - they've got gas for heat, hot water, and cooking, and as of five minutes ago they still had power with no flickers. My friend is busy making up a savory, meaty stew for dinner, and baking a loaf of home-made bread to go with it. They don't have to go anywhere. Her well-mannered and impeccably-turned-out kids are rosy-cheeked from ice-sledding. They have a big, roaring fire. They have a bag of weed. They have a case of wine. They have hot chocolate. They still have their fucking pajamas on, for God's sake. Doesn't that sound heavenly?

Meanwhile, in Lower Alabama, the same shit falls out of the sky into a pane of just-above-freezing air, onto a not-cold-enough-to-freeze ground, making mud and gunk to spatter your trousers. No ice. No snow. No stew. No weed. No picturesque views, unless you count rain dripping off the eaves of the Seven-Eleven as picturesque, which I, for my part, do not.

Don't get me wrong; I'm a bitch, but not a total cunt. I do feel for those folks who suffer from the ice and snow business - tree damage, car accidents, loss of power...all that sucks. But - and this is a big but - when that shit doesn't happen, an ice storm, or a snow storm, is lovely.

Sam will be over to kick my ass in a minute. Gotta go!